


Rage Against the Dying

by Wynn



Series: Thesis and Antithesis [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Drama, Feelings Realization, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Symbolic removals of glasses and gloves, Unresolved Romantic Tension, emotional tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynn/pseuds/Wynn
Summary: The world is not simple and Goro is not and neither is Akira or the relationship that has developed between them, nettled as it is by death and distortion. Yet the desire that burns in Akira is clear. He wants to change Goro’s heart. He wants to save Goro. He wants Goro to save himself. He wants Goro-He wants Goro.Despite everything. The murders, the betrayals. It’s foolish, but fundamental, outfitted for them by fate and showcased to all in the manifestation of their souls, in Loki and Arsene. They fought the same, looked the same, bore the same silhouette. They were just rendered in different tones, a testament to their different experiences. Yet the initial seed was the same, one cast by a coin toss into fallow ground and one into fertile.It’s no wonder that Maruki chose Goro as the piece to play against Akira. Yet while Maruki recognizes Akira’s desire, he doesn’t understand it. He’s interpreted it as his own, believing that Akira would want to erase the pain Goro has suffered as well as the pain he has caused. Yet to do so would be to give up on Goro, to believe him broken beyond repair, incapable of growth, of progress, of healing.And that Akira will never do.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Thesis and Antithesis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861957
Comments: 20
Kudos: 285
Collections: Quality Persona Fics





	Rage Against the Dying

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night” by Dylan Thomas. On my first play of Persona 5 and of its New Game +, I was fairly indifferent to Akechi. I recognized he was a good character, but he didn’t strike at the feels, so to speak. P5Royal not only struck at the feels, but decimated them with a sledgehammer. Now Akechi is a Best Boy along with Ryuji (Rowdy Boy), Yusuke (Quirky Boy), and Akira (Quiet Boy). He is Rage Boy, and I love him so, particularly the third semester iteration. 
> 
> I basically listened to Garbage’s first two albums (Garbage and Version 2.0) on repeat while writing this. Basically, everything is Akechi and/or Akechi & Akira, particularly “You Look So Fine,” “Dumb,” “Stupid Girl,” “Supervixen,” and “Wicked Ways.” Also, if you're a fan of AMVs, I watched "Kill Everyone" by JokerAMVs and "Rest in Pieces" by PhinDicated (found on YouTube) on repeat.

Akira has plumbed the depths of humanity’s heart. He’s seen worlds nearly beyond imagination, castles and pyramids and spaceships. He’s fought abusers and perverts, gangsters and murderers, and he’s summoned the devil inside him to shoot a literal god in the face. 

Yet none of that leaves him prepared to talk to Goro Akechi.

Heart pounding, Akira watches Akechi walk away, his trench coat bright against the dim lighting of Leblanc. Tomorrow, Akechi will die. They’ll fight Maruki and they’ll win, they have no other choice, they must win, and when they win, this world will disappear and Akechi with it. And he knows this. Akechi knows he’ll die, yet he’s still chosen to fight. He’s accepted that he’ll die.

Because that, apparently, is the only choice. Die or be destroyed by Maruki.

Jaw clenching, Akira watches Akechi reach for the door. Then he says, jumping as always into the deep, “I held on to your glove.”

Akechi stops. He lowers his hand and then his head. With his scarf on, Akira can’t see his face. Akechi doesn’t say anything for a few moments, he doesn’t even move, then he turns slowly to glare at Akira. “Tell me you’re not foolish enough to want to duel me the night before we fight to reclaim our _entire_ reality.”

Akira shakes his head. He pulls his hands from the pockets of his pants and uses one to point at the chess set gathering dust on the shelf behind the booths.

Akechi follows his gaze. His jaw clenches as he spots the game, but no other expression crosses his face. A long moment passes and then, without looking at Akira, he says, “Why play a game that you know you’re going to lose?”

If the question referred to chess, Akira would deem it a fair one. He’d spent countless nights last summer playing the game with Akechi, yet he never won. Not even once. But Akechi never said anything with just one layer of meaning, not even now after he’d shed the skin of the Detective Prince. They were both pawns in a much bigger game, one arranged by forces both human and inhuman, those who wished for their will to be inflicted upon all. Akira had never lost to them in this game, but he’d lost to Akechi again and again, Akechi outmaneuvering him, first on Shido’s ship and then again now, forcing Akira to accept his removal from the playing board altogether.

Yet the game has not ended, and Akira will not give up without a fight.

“What makes you think I’ll lose?” he asks. He waits until Akechi looks at him before continuing. “Shido tried to play me, he tried to play _us_ , he tried to use us to destroy one another, but he lost. Yaldabaoth, too. He created this entire game, and he pitted us against each other for nothing. For his sick amusement. And he lost. And now Maruki.” Akira pauses then to shake his head. “He’s already lost. We were never caught up in his false reality. His control was never absolute, and it never will be. It _can’t_ be. Where there’s control, there will always be rebellion.”

At that, Akechi rolls his eyes. “It seems fighting a god has made you as pompous as one.”

Akira ignores the jab, his current line of thought too important to abandon. “I refuse to accept that the only two options are you dying in our true reality or you living in this false one.”

“Then you reject the truth. You run from it, like Maruki has.”

Akira shakes his head. “It’s not the same.”

“It _is_. I died, Kurusu.”

“You’re not dead now. And you might not be again, not unless you make the same idiotic choice you did on Shido’s ship.”

Like gas hitting an open flame, the criticism explodes Akechi’s control. He stalks toward Akira, his hands clenched by his sides. “Idiotic?”

“Yes. All of us wanted to help you, but even after everything,” he says as Akechi stops before him, “you still thought you had to do it alone.”

“You would have _died_ if I hadn’t.”

Akira shakes his head again. “No. We wouldn’t have. We didn’t against you. We wouldn’t have against a lesser version of you.”

The flames of Akechi’s fury flicker, but they do not fully extinguish. “Since your perception of the moment is so flawed, let me remind you. He wasn’t alone.”

“Neither were we. And neither were you, until you chose to be.”

Now Akechi shakes his head, not in denial of what Akira just said, but in disdain of him, of the sentiment he espouses. “You’re so arrogant, thinking you can save everyone.” 

Akira lifts his chin. “So are you, thinking no one can save you.”

Akechi doesn’t immediately respond. He glares at Akira a long moment, his rage roiling beneath his skin, nearly as potent as it is in the Metaverse, swirling crimson and dark about his legs. Then with a visible effort, it abates. Akechi unclenches his hands. He straightens his shoulders and reclaims a bit of the Detective Prince. Akira can almost see Robin Hood standing behind him, a tall, gleaming beacon of righteousness. Yet Akechi’s voice betrays him when he speaks, his hard tone falling short of his prior soft spoken lilt. “I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to deny someone the dignity of their choice.”

“Maybe if you’d chosen _for_ something I wouldn’t. But you didn’t. You chose against yourself.”

“I was trying-”

“No, you weren’t. You were giving up.” Akechi’s calm veneer cracks and he inhales sharply, yet Akira plows on, denying him the chance to deny. “Do you think you were the first person that we defeated who tried to kill themselves after? You weren’t. The only difference is that you’re trying to cast yours as some sort of noble sacrifice. It wasn’t. Death isn’t atonement, Akechi. It’s not justice. It doesn’t help anything or anyone.”

Akechi laughs at that, but it’s grating and harsh, without any shred of mirth. “Have you mistaken me for someone else? I’ve never helped anyone in my life. Even this, fighting Maruki, is because I don’t want to live under his thumb for the rest of my life. Nothing more.”

“Just because you haven’t doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Akechi counters. “Has your naive little brain ever considered that?”

“Yes. But then I remembered what you told me about your mother.”

It’s a dangerous move to make, recalling not just Akechi’s painful past, the entire reason for his failed vengeance against Shido, but also that Akechi shared this information with Akira, that he let Akira in, that he _wanted_ to, in this instance and others. Even on Shido’s ship, mere moments before his death. But not since, Akechi stonewalling all of Akira’s efforts to talk to him beyond the bounds of the mission. So the move is dangerous, but at this late in the game, and with the stakes so high, Akira is desperate enough to risk the danger.

“I think you wanted to help her,” he continues, voice quiet but firm, “but you couldn’t. You were too young. You-”

Akechi lurches forward, closing the distance between them, yet he stops short of grabbing Akira. Or of punching him. “Stop psychoanalyzing me. I’ve had my fill of that shit with Maruki.”

“I will if you do what you said you were going to.”

The sneer twisting Akechi’s face softens to a frown. He eyes Akira, likely reviewing everything he’s ever said to Akira in order to comprehend the claim. Yet comprehension must elude him, for a few seconds later, he grits out, “And what is that?”

“You said you weren’t going to accept a reality that was made for you by anyone else, but you still are. You still think of yourself like Shido and Yaldabaoth and the entire world has made you think. That you’re worthless. That all you’re good for is death and destruction. That there’s no place for you here. That you don’t deserve one. That you don’t deserve to _live_ -”

Akira’s voice cracks at the last. He averts his gaze and Akechi takes a step back, but as close as they still are to one another, the actions provide little relief. Yet Akira does not move any further away. Retreat is not an option, not with the moment hanging so tenuously between them. Pulling in a breath, he clenches his trembling hands. Then he exhales slowly, looks back at Akechi, and says, “Will you give up on yourself again, let yourself die here like you did on Shido’s ship? Or will you fight for yourself and try to live, to live freely, finally, bound to no one’s control and no one’s expectations but yours?”

To say Akechi looks stunned would be an understatement. Perhaps dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Every emotion Akechi sets between himself and the world, his rage, his contempt, his counterfeit calm, lies ruined before him, ripped to shreds as ragged as the cape on his Metaverse costume. It is a state of vulnerability that deserves reciprocity, so Akira lifts a shaking hand to remove his first and best line of defense against the rotten world.

His glasses clatter onto the table as Akira tosses them aside.

“You…” Goro shakes his head. The movement is as soft as his voice, as the space between them now. “You’ve become quite the manipulator. I’m impressed.” 

“I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m trying to persuade you.”

For a long moment, Goro doesn’t say anything. He stares at Akira instead, and if before, his stare demanded, never satisfied with the fraction of self that Akira showed to the world, now his stare marvels, as though the sight that he sees, the self that he sees, is incomprehensibly clear. Another few seconds pass and then Goro laughs, a faint, helpless sound that wrenches at Akira. “You’re trying to change my heart.”

“Yes.”

The truth is simply expressed, though it is far from simple. The world is not simple and Goro is not and neither is Akira or the relationship that has developed between them, nettled as it is by death and distortion. Yet the desire that burns in Akira is clear. He wants to change Goro’s heart. He wants to save Goro. He wants Goro to save himself. He wants Goro-

He _wants_ Goro.

Despite everything. The murders, the betrayals. It’s foolish, but fundamental, outfitted for them by fate and showcased to all in the manifestation of their souls, in Loki and Arsene. They fought the same, looked the same, bore the same silhouette. They were just rendered in different tones, a testament to their different experiences. Yet the initial seed was the same, one cast by a coin toss into fallow ground and one into fertile.

It’s no wonder that Maruki chose Goro as the piece to play against Akira. Yet while Maruki recognizes Akira’s desire, he doesn’t understand it. He’s interpreted it as his own, believing that Akira would want to erase the pain Goro has suffered as well as the pain he has caused. Yet to do so would be to give up on Goro, to believe him broken beyond repair, incapable of growth, of progress, of healing.

And that Akira will never do.

Heart pounding, Akira reaches out. His fingertips brush against the cool leather of Goro’s glove. At the contact, the breath hitches in Goro’s chest. He closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side, yet he doesn’t pull away, so Akira continues on, curling his fingers around Goro’s clenched and trembling hand. “I am trying to change your heart. I have been for the past eight months. And I will keep trying,” he vows as he slides his hand up, beyond the edge of the glove, to the delicate skin of Goro’s wrist, “until I can’t anymore, until neither of us exists in any reality. Because I-”

Goro moves, unclenching his hand and clamping down on Akira’s wrist. “Shut up. Shut up, shut _up_.” He looks at Akira. His face is twisted, his mouth flat and unyielding, at war with the tears in his eyes, with the waver in his voice as he whispers, “You fool. You _absolute_ fool. I’m not-”

“You are. To me, you are. You are worth fighting for. I know you don’t believe it. But I’ll believe it for you until you can.” 

The promise unfurls between them. The new path, the new deal. Akira lifts his chin and stares at Goro and waits. 

Goro returns his stare, the demanding edge once more sharpening to his gaze. He takes in every facet of Akira’s expression. The perusal leaves himself open to the same scrutiny, his demand to see, to know, to puzzle out the truth of Akira revealing the depth of his own desire. It is only now that Akira considers that it may be different from his, that Goro may view him solely as a rival or an enemy or perhaps a potential friend. Maybe Akira has misinterpreted like Maruki has.

He only has a second to consider the thought before Goro’s gaze stops on Akira’s lips.

There is a world beyond Leblanc, a world waiting for them to fight, yet the world reduces then to the cafe and Goro and Akira and the look that they share between them. One second passes and then two and then Goro moves.

He releases Akira’s wrist and lifts his hand. The other follows, and Akira watches, breathless, as Goro begins to remove his gloves. He does not hurry, falter, or fumble. His movements are slow and precise, a sharp contrast to the fire that sparks in Akira as he stares. Some of it must show on his face for Akira hears the slightest catch to Goro’s breath. Yet he remains steady in his motions, pulling off first one glove and then the second before dropping them on the table beside Akira’s glasses. 

He lifts his hands again. They hover in the air between them, the first sign of hesitation flickering in Goro. It’s understandable. They stride toward uncharted territory, especially for Goro. With his all-consuming focus on revenge, Akira doubts that he spared a single thought toward love. What good would it have done him? What good had it ever done him given the life he led? Even Akira had built a barricade against it after his arrest, walling himself off from the rest of the world. Yet his had been hastily erected and more easily chipped away, each confidant that he made in Tokyo hastening the process with their conversations and revelations and absolute acceptance of him.

Goro had no one, shunning all save Akira.

Drawing in a breath, Akira reaches out. He sets his hands on Goro’s hips, just beneath the belt of his coat. He keeps his touch light at first, waiting for Goro’s reaction. Goro tenses, but he doesn’t pull away, so Akira settles his hands. Goro is solid in his grip, undeniably yet unbelievably real. The thought of him vanishing after tomorrow batters against the control that Akira had managed to regain over his emotions. His eyes close and his grip tightens on Goro, and it’s not what Akira wanted. He wanted to show Goro how to be soft for a moment, how to be tender, yet he clings to Goro, unable to make himself stop.

The hands that grab the sides of his face are neither soft nor tender. Instead, they are rough and demanding as Goro says, “Look at me.”

Akira opens his eyes.

And there’s not any tenderness in Goro’s expression, not one shred of softness either, but there is something beyond rage in his eyes, something fierce and desperate that makes the breath go still in Akira’s chest. “I never conceived of an after,” he says, his voice like his hands and eyes, low and hard and slicing its way into Akira’s heart. “After Shido. After Maruki. Such a thing never existed for me. There was only the victory, no matter the cost. But you…” Goro trails off. He looks at Akira a long moment before shaking his head. “You take all of my plans, and you grind them to dust.” 

He pauses again, and his gaze drops to Akira’s lips. Even with the look, Akira is unprepared for the touch, Goro bringing the thumb of his left hand to Akira’s lips. Unexpectedly light, the touch makes Akira gasp. At the sound, the pupils blow wide in Goro’s eyes. He drags his thumb across Akira’s mouth, the contact just a shade too firm to be a caress. “So this,” he murmurs, “this will be for after. So there is one. So I _want_ one,” he adds as he lifts his gaze.

Breathless, Akira meets his eyes, and for the first time since Maruki revealed his hand, dangling Goro’s life before Akira and tempting him to fall, Akira feels hope. “It’s a deal.”

The words echo in the hush of Leblanc, they reverberate up the stairs, and in the dark of the attic, in the depths of an unassuming bag, a star shines.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is a wonderful and much appreciated thing. Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](https://astreetcarnamedwynn.tumblr.com) if you're so inclined.


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